


a graveyard lullaby

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [16]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Death, Funeral, M/M, graveyard, its like i cant get out of this pit of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on tumblr from one-july-afternoon: Murphy x Bellamy Prompt "I never got to say goodbye"</p><p>Alex Murphy is dead. Murphy and Bellamy attend the funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a graveyard lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to kill Bellamy off originally, and then I realised I could complete this prompt without doing that.
> 
> Thank you to one-july-afternoon for the prompt! I enjoyed writing it a bunch.

Murphy slumped over at the side of the grave. Next to him, Bellamy’s fingers skimmed down his arm before encompassing his hand. They stared at the tombstone; the freshly patted down dirt, so far away from ever growing the grass that’ll cover it one day. There was only a single bouquet of flowers; the one that Murphy bought for his father. His mother didn’t bother to bring one, just like she barely bothered to show up.

Thankfully, Bellamy said nothing, sitting on the damp grass by the side of the grave. He said nothing as tears started to pour from Murphy’s eyes in goddamn waterfalls – he’d never cried like this before; never had a reason to. And now his father was dead and buried and his mother wasn’t too far behind.

He stared at the grave stone even when his vision clouded up. He could barely make out the words, even though he knew them by heart _. Alex Murphy. An angel amongst men._ Murphy didn’t know if that was a lie or not, because his father had been in prison for as long as he could remember.

Murphy sniffed heavily, hoping that Bellamy still wouldn’t speak; would just let him cry himself into oblivion. But he wasn’t that lucky – Murphy was _never_ that lucky.

“It’ll be all right,” Bellamy said lowly. Murphy gritted his teeth then, but refused to respond. He was _not_ getting into one of those stupid, petty arguments with Bellamy the day his father was buried – he was _not_. He resolved to say nothing, stared at the gravestone and wonder what his father’s last thought was. But, it was likely that it had something to do with the shank in his chest; the one embedded there by a fellow inmate during a riot.

That, though, the fact that Alex probably forgot about his son long ago, just caused Murphy to cry more; his face scrunched up and his free hand pressed into his sockets. Alex Murphy had loved John – he knew this, he knew this, he knew this. Murphy wouldn’t forget that, but his father had done bad things for good reasons and still ended up dead. It didn’t matter who he loved, anymore. It didn’t matter that his mother drank and injected drugs into her arms or kissed other men, or didn’t come home every night. It didn’t matter because she would be dead soon, as well, and Murphy would be an orphan.

And even so, he wasn’t thinking much else than a single thought, that made him lean against Bellamy – that goddamn rock who’d been through his years before and come out well enough to be a guardian for a goddamn _ten_ _year_ _old_.

“I never got to say goodbye,” Murphy cried, burying his face into Bellamy’s shoulder, dampening the suit jacket with his tears.

“I know,” Bellamy whispered, his hand slipping out from Murphy’s, and his arms wrapping around the smaller boy. That’s all he was now; gone was the man with the degree and the business that he created himself. Gone was the strength and the bravery and the dominance that he was determined to assert – he was just a boy, crying at a grave, and Bellamy was a man, like he’d always been, holding that boy down on the ground, to stop his head floating up into the stratosphere where the air was non-existent and the thoughts were few.

Murphy clenched his hands into Bellamy’s jacket and cried, pretending that he was just a kid again, and these types of tears were normal for scraped knees and black eyes, not for deaths and murders.

“I love you,” Bellamy told him, and Murphy barely heard the words over his sobs, but it was still exactly what he needed, just like every night he clenched his teeth in bed to stop the tears from overflowing, because as long as Bellamy loved him and would hold him during the gravestones and police visits, then Murphy would be okay – he was sure.

He would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING.
> 
> Remember to click the kudos button and tell me in the comments what you thought because I'd love to hear it.
> 
> (Also, prompt me on tumblr at bowlingfornerds)


End file.
